By Tony Traficante, ISDA Contributing Editor
Nonna Rosaria Fassetta was Monica’s (my late wife’s) paternal grandmother. Her home was in Grizzo Marcelina, Province of Pordenone, Regional Authority of Friuli Venezia Giulia. It’s about 60 to 70 kilometers west of Trieste.
Despite her feistiness, Granny was a sweet soul with wrinkled skin like untanned leather. Like most widowed Italian women, she wore black from head to toe. She wore a black babushka tied around her head, a black shirt, and layers of skirts, the top one black.
She received a small pension from the Italian government. Granny didn’t carry a purse. She wrapped her money in a knotted handkerchief and stuffed it in a pocket.
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I would have guessed she was in her eighties or nineties. Her walking stick was made from a tree limb. Nonna was dressed in the same faded black dress and apron. Her hair was pulled back under the babushka and pinned up with a few strands of white peeking out. Her wrinkled face lit up when she smiled, and her dark eyes twinkled with life.
Nonna lived alone across the driveway from the main Fassetta Villa in a row-style house.. Although she could have lived with Monica’s parents, she preferred to live on her own.
A young man came to prepare the ground for planting in the spring. After that, Nonna could tend to her small garden without problems.
She smoked. Sometimes you would see a corn cob pipe clasped between her lips. But American cigars were her favorite. When all else failed, she ground up some Toscano stogies and stuffed them in her pipe. She said tobacco was the only thing that kept her going. Her doctor disagreed!
We brought Granny a couple (or four) packs of American cigars when we visited her in Grizzo. Since my father-in-law didn’t approve, I passed the cigars on to her “alla nascosto.” Granny thanked me with a hug, and a twinkle in her eyes.
Nonna Fassetta “piaceva andare in giro con la macchina” loved going riding in the car since she could no longer manage to ride her old Vespa scooter. So, Monica and I would take her for a cruise usually to the city of Maniago for shopping and lunch. It was a joy watching her walk through the “big” town in awe of it all.
Nonna was fascinated with the town. She loved window shopping and visiting the street vendors. Of course, whatever she wanted she got. She would scold Monica for buying anything for her, because for her everything was expensive. One day Monica wanted to buy her a colorful knitted shawl. Absolutely not! She could not accept it if it wasn’t black. After all, she was still a widow. What would people say? Nevertheless, Monica bought it. And when she did, there was a slight smile from Nonna, and she insisted on carrying it.
We stopped for lunch at one of the trattorias. Nonna had soup. Monica had veal and I had tripe! It had been ages since I had tasted tripe. Monica couldn’t stand it. I laughed and told her she was missing out on something special. She smiled and said she was happy with her eating habits.
It was late in the afternoon; we noticed that poor Nonna was dragging. She had walked quite a bit but refused a “sedia a rotelle” wheelchair. Nonna Fassetta’s enthusiasm for these trips was infectious and we always looked forward to taking her to places. She was determined to make the most of her time and looked forward to making new memories. We were delighted to spend time with her.
Nonna was a beloved figure in the community, respected and admired by all who knew her. She was a survivor and a fighter, and her spirit was strong despite her age. She was a living testament to the strength of the human spirit, a symbol of resilience and determination in the face of adversity. Her quiet courage was inspiring, and her wisdom was sought by all.
Her strength and wisdom live on in the hearts of those who were blessed to know her.
